


'cause you're still my boy in the bad days

by soldmyscars



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Arachnophobia, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pet Names, Shy!Mickey, Size Difference, Too much fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:52:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4723289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldmyscars/pseuds/soldmyscars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>25 drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prompt: winter, soft

**Author's Note:**

> title is from _the bad days_ by david ramirez, though i changed one of the words.
> 
> this is going to be a series of random drabbles. i just need something to get my writing juices flowing again. i wanna try to post at least one per week.
> 
> rating may change, and tags will be added as necessary.

He's lying in bed when Ian comes through the door, on his back with a cigarette in his mouth. He puffs at it gently, eyes closed, until the floorboards creak softly under Ian's feet trigger him into opening them.

"Hey," Ian says, voice raspy from the cold. 

He's in a jacket that's too small for him, a long sleeved shirt, and a pair of worn jeans that Mickey's seen hundreds of times before. His cheeks are flush, his hair is windswept, and he should look fuckin' ridiculous, but really, he's beautiful. His gaze is bright, green like the grass outside, and he's waiting for Mickey to invite him in.

"C'mere, sweet guy," Mickey murmurs. He extends his hand and Ian comes to him, grabbing it and linking their fingers together as he leans down and takes the cigarette from Mickey's mouth, replacing it with his lips.


	2. prompt: warm, spicy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disjointed sentences out the ass. rating is now t.

He doesn't smell like cologne. Doesn't wear it. Cheap deodorant, yeah. Cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. Motor oil, occasionally. Cinnamon.

It took Ian a while to figure out the last one. He had to get close enough. A hard press of lips on lips, slightly open mouthed. Ian had to taste it. Breath spicy, warm, a little wet. Inhaling it deeply. _Fuck._

It was those god awful candies, the ones sold in bulk on Valentine's Day. Red Hots. At the park, on nights they passed a flask of whiskey back and forth instead of shotgunning beer. His mouth always tingled after it touched the rim. Not from the booze, but from Mickey and his stupid candy. Mickey's mouth always looked so red, almost too plump to be real. Swollen from the constant burn of cinnamon.

And now? With Mickey straddling him, grinding down on him, panting in between rough kisses and making these unexpected breathy noises that drive Ian absolutely crazy because he's the one who's causing them, everything is heady. He loves the way Mickey smells. He'll never get tired of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tysm for all the subscriptions?? holy crap.


	3. picture prompt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by [this](http://i.imgur.com/l98B245.jpg) image.

They buy their first piece of furniture at a yard sale for twenty dollars. The guy wants a lot more for it, but after Mickey plasters on a charming smile and a friendly voice that has Ian smothering a smirk, they manage to haggle it down to almost nothing. 

A couch. Something to put in the living room. It's a bit lumpy, and there's barely enough room for the two of them on it, but it's theirs. They haul it up to their apartment, huffing and puffing, and force it through the narrow door. Then they look down at it, and then at each other. Mickey raises his eyebrows, and Ian grins.

They order pizza and eat it out of the box, sitting cross legged with the pie between them. Ian's changed out of his regular clothes and is lounging in sweats and one of Mickey's t-shirts. Mickey gets sauce and grease all over himself as he eats, and Ian laughs at him when he ends up stripping in the middle of the room and sitting back down in his boxers.

Later, with full stomachs and no energy to unpack any of their stuff, Ian pulls Mickey down for a nap. To test out their new couch, he says, of course. 

The sun is still shining through the window. It's the middle of the day, and they're curled up together like they have all the time in the world. Ian's behind him, arm around him, hand tucked under Mickey's pec to keep him from rolling off the edge of the cushions. There's a soft blanket balled up beneath Ian's head, but Mickey is using Ian's bicep as a pillow, his arms crossed, fingers touching Ian's forearm to keep it from going anywhere.

Ian's socked foot brushes against Mickey's bare ankle, the fabric warm. They're mismatched, his socks. One has stripes, the other doesn't. He had to know Mickey would make a Pippi Longstocking joke. _Had to_ , but he still wore 'em. And it really shouldn't be cute - Mickey shouldn't find his boyfriend's stupid socks so damn cute that something in his chest expands when Ian pokes him gently with his big toe. But he does, and his own naked toes curl slightly along with the corners of his mouth. Ian kisses the crook of his neck and his smile grows bigger, helplessly, until it's a grin. 

It's pleasure, this feeling. Somewhere to belong. Someone to belong to. Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops i schmooped. and au'd. sorry not sorry?


	4. missing prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i'm not even gonna pretend these drabbles make sense with the title anymore. also i wrote this one without anything to prompt me. such a rebel, breaking all the rules.

"Shit, man, we forgot the buns," Mickey says, looking down at the basket Ian places by their feet.

"You sure?" Ian replies. He glances down to confirm. There's a six-pack of beer, toilet paper, a bag of Doritos, a couple candy bars, a jar of hot mustard, and a pack of hot dogs.

"Yeah." Mickey waves a hand, already distracted by the magazines on the racks in front of the till. "Go ahead and get 'em, I'll stay in line."

Ian doesn't say anything, tilting his head and considering him. With a sudden mischievous smile, he slips a hand into Mickey's back pocket and squeezes. He almost laughs when Mickey's whole body twitches in surprise. Mickey turns towards Ian and Ian takes the opportunity to slip his other hand into Mickey's other pocket, cupping Mickey's ass through his jeans. "Why go anywhere when I've got the best buns in the store right here?"

A small blush blooms across the bridge of Mickey's nose as he glares up at him. "Quit the fuckin' gropin' or I'll make sure you won't get to eat dinner _or_ me later."

Ian lights up, laugh finally escaping him. He knows he's already pushing it, because Mickey still isn't really comfortable with PDA, so he removes his hands. He can't quite resist pressing his lips against Mickey's pink cheek, though, feeling it grow warmer as he does. "Okay, babe." 

He bounds away to the bakery section before Mickey can protest, grinning as he catches one last look at Mickey's flustered face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /o\


	5. prompt: height difference, tippy toes, sweet kisses and fond smiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credit for this adorable prompt goes to [ObliviousInflux](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliviousInflux/pseuds/ObliviousInflux)

Ian's grown a lot over the years. It's not really fair, especially since it seems like he's _still_ growing, shooting up like a fucking tree, and Mickey is stuck where he is. 

Mickey isn't a little person. He's perfectly average, fuck you very much. Not everyone can be a tall, ginger giant. And what he lacks in height, he makes up for in bulk, and his attitude and his reputation on the streets fill in the rest. 

\--But then there's times like right now, when they're horsing around and Ian manages to trap him, crowding him up against the door frame, practically looming over him, and Mickey... Mickey does feel kinda small. 

And he kinda likes it.

Of course he pretends he doesn't, because it'll be a cold day in hell before he admits something girly like that, but something in Ian's eyes tells Mickey he knows anyway. (Arrogant fuck.)

Mickey stares defiantly up at him, heart pounding, the urge to escape Ian's warm gaze getting worse the longer Ian doesn't say or do anything. "We just gonna fuckin' stand here or what, stretch?" Mickey says. He means for it to come out teasing, but instead it comes out a bit breathless.

Ian smiles at him. "You could kiss me, if you want," he says, and then raises his eyebrows, expectant.

Mickey's eyes fall to Ian's mouth. He licks his own lips automatically and Ian's smile widens. "I could, huh?"

"Mmhm." It's clear the redhead doesn't plan on leaning down and making this easy. "Time's ticking, Mick."

"You're a fuckin' dick," Mickey mutters, and then cups a hand around the back of Ian's neck and rises up onto his toes before Ian can retort, heels leaving the floor and shoulders leaving the door frame. When their mouths touch, Ian lets out a low sound of approval that sends tingles down Mickey's spine. Ian catches his hips, big hands spanning them possessively, keeping Mickey steady.

For some reason, Ian doesn't let him deepen the kiss. He pulls back teasingly, making Mickey chase him again and again, and their lips make soft smacking sounds as they connect and disconnect. "Ian," he complains, when Ian does it for the fourth time, and Ian ignores him, rubbing his nose against Mickey's playfully. "What the fuck are you doing." 

"Shh," Ian whispers, and then pecks Mickey's mouth again, sweet enough to give Mickey cavities.

To his horror, Mickey can actually feel his cheeks starting to bulge, a ridiculous grin breaking free as Ian keeps rubbing their noses together. _Nuzzling_ him, like they're making some kind of Eskimo porn or something.

They only stop when Mandy, who came into the living room sometime during their earlier wrestling match to fold laundry, throws a balled up pair of socks at their heads, startling them both, and tells them to _quit being so fucking gross_.


	6. prompt: noise, discomfort

There's a hard spring poking him in the ass and a crick in his neck from the odd angle of the cushions under his head. Mickey sits up, groaning as his stiff muscles protest the movement. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of one hand and fumbles blindly for a cigarette with the other, cursing when he knocks over a beer can and soaks the pack sitting on the coffee table. He gives up when he tries to take one out and it tears in half, and looks towards the closed door of their bedroom.

He and Ian had sort of had a fight the night before. Mickey doesn't even remember what it had originally been about – something dumb, like Ian forgetting to put the damn toothpaste cap back on after he brushed his teeth – but it had escalated into an all out shouting match. Insults had flown, and Ian had said something that made Mickey reel back a little, stung, though he reacted to it by telling Ian to go fuck himself. Literally, because Mickey was sleeping on the couch.

He hated the fucking couch.

He'd tossed and turned, and he'd been cold without Ian and his furnace of a body wrapped around him, and that goddamn _clock_ in the living room kept ticking like it was pressed right against his ear, and instead of waking up to a warm kiss (with Ian's awful morning breath, because he's a fuckin' mouth breather at night) he woke up sore and shivering and... yeah. 

Mickey frowns, still staring at the door, before he gets up and ambles over to it. He enters the room quietly and finds Ian sprawled across the bed, lying on his back with the sheets twisted around his hips, chest bare. Mickey's heart trips a little at the sight, frown involuntarily softening.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and reaches out, gently pushing Ian's sleep mussed hair away from his eyes, caressing the side of his face. But Ian's eyes open while he's doing it, landing directly on Mickey with a clarity that suggests he's been awake for a while now, and Mickey pauses awkwardly, caught out. He starts to pull his hand back, but Ian grabs his wrist and turns his cheek into Mickey's palm, closing his eyes again and pressing his lips to the pad of Mickey's thumb. “Sorry I was a dick,” Ian croaks.

Mickey swallows, and then shrugs, brushing his thumb along Ian's soft lips this time. “S'okay,” he says. “You can't help it.”

“Hey!” Ian laughs, scratchy, and Mickey grins, something in his chest loosening at the sound. “You're one to talk.”

“What?” Mickey scoffs. “I'm a fuckin' angel.”

“Yeah, and pigs can fly.”

“I'm pretty sure they _can_ , and do. On airplanes. How else would we get our bacon?”

“Mick.”

Mickey quirks an eyebrow.

Ian lifts the covers. “Get in bed with me, please.”

Only Ian can make a _please_ come out like a command. Mickey climbs into the space Ian created for him, grumbling just for the sake of it, and settles onto him comfortably. He's warm, Ian's heartbeat is in his ear, and his ass is spring free. “By the way, as soon as we get up later we're buying a new couch, and getting rid of that fucking cuckoo clock.”

Mickey glances up when a few seconds go by with no response. Ian is already sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really appreciate the kudos, guys. i also really don't deserve them, haha


	7. prompt: first date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i've become incapable of writing anything serious or angsty. season five is to blame. :/ this one is an au! and kinda ooc.
> 
> also, dialogue is hard. especially lately. but i promise nobody calls ian a dick again...

Mickey twirls his keys around his finger once before catching them. “So I, uh, I'll see ya tomorrow, then?”

“You can pick me up at eight.” Ian smiles wide, fondness already blooming when Mickey ducks his head shyly and grins at his feet, like he can't help it. 

“'Aight.” Mickey glances up at him through his lashes, and then quickly back down again, nodding. “Cool.” 

“ _Cool,_ ” Ian repeats, crossing his arms, amused. 

He tries not to laugh when Mickey's ears go red and he huffs, clearly embarrassed. “Shut up.” 

Ian is pretty sure if he looked in a mirror his eyes would be twinkling. He watches as Mickey rubs the back of his neck, clenches his keys, and makes no move to get in his car and leave. Ian doesn't let an awkward silence creep in; instead, he uncrosses his arms and steps forward. 

When he cups Mickey's jaw, he sees Mickey swallow, and when Mickey looks up, his eyes are wide and as blue as an ocean. His lips part when Ian leans forward, with a nervous, shaky inhale, but when Ian kisses him he immediately kisses Ian back with an eagerness that's ridiculously cute. Mickey's keys land somewhere by their feet and he hauls Ian closer with a slightly clammy hand on the back of Ian's neck, pulling him down. 

Despite Mickey's filthy mouth, and his tough guy personality, there's something almost innocent about him like this.

When they pull apart a few seconds later, Mickey looks dazed. And then a little irritated. “Why'd you stop?”

Ian chuckles, which makes the furrow in Mickey's brows grow deeper. Mickey's still looking at him, his full lips pink and not nearly bruised enough. “No idea,” Ian replies honestly, and kisses him again.

Mickey ends up giving him a tour of the backseat of his car and his apartment, and their date for tomorrow ends up including breakfast, lunch, and dinner.


	8. prompt: phobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the lack of updates! i haven't felt super motivated to write lately. but to make up for it, have a drabble that... probably isn't considered a drabble because it's over 1k.

Ian wakes to the sound of Mickey shouting at someone. This isn't that uncommon an occurrence, but Ian is trying to _sleep_ , god damn it. He had a long night of work and didn't get home until nearly four. He closes his eyes again, hoping he just caught the end of the argument and now all would be quiet, but--

"FUCK!"

...No. Ian moans into his pillow, spending a few more seconds pitying himself, and then rolls out of bed. He stomps into the living room, ready to break up whatever stupid fight Mickey's gotten himself into this time, but the sight that greets him isn't what he expected.

Mickey's alone in the room. He's alone, and he's glaring hard at... the floor.

"Mickey?" Ian squints, annoyance morphing to confusion. "Who're you yelling at?"

Was his boyfriend having an argument with _himself?_

Mickey backs up a couple steps and points at the corner of the room. "Not _who_ , fuckin' _it_. That huge fuckin' bastard right there."

Ian stares at the corner, and then at Mickey. He doesn't see anything. "Did you take something?"

Mickey makes a frustrated noise. "No, what the fuck? You think I'm hallucinating? _Look._ "

Ian steps closer to the corner, until finally... Oh. "Mick," Ian says. "It's just a spider."

"I know that! Get it the fuck out of here!" 

Ian blinks. He raises his hands in surrender, though he wonders why Mickey can't just get the damn spider himself. "Okay, fine," he agrees.

He's heading for the bathroom when Mickey suddenly barks, "Where are you going?! I thought you were gonna get it!"

Ian turns around, about to sigh in exasperation. He stops, though, when he looks closer and sees how erratically Mickey's breathing, how his shoulders are practically level with his ears. Ian's expression softens in understanding. "Just gonna get a Kleenex, babe. I'll be right back." 

Mickey's eyes are glued to the spider, but he darts a glance at Ian and gives him a jerky nod. His fists clench and unclench at his sides.

Ian smiles gently at him, hand coming out to stroke the nape of Mickey's neck in reassurance as he passes him. He's so tense Ian doesn't have the heart to tease him.

When he comes back, tissue armed and ready to go, Mickey is still paralyzed in the same spot. Except... worse, somehow. He's white as a ghost, and staring straight down at his feet. Ian comes over and looks down, figuring out why pretty quick. The spider is on Mickey's _foot_.

"Fuck, fuck, fucking fucking fuck fuck _fuck_ , fuck, Jesus fuck," Mickey's whispering frantically. It almost makes Ian dizzy. He doesn't even think Mickey notices him until his fucks change to _Ian_ 's. "Ian. Ian, get it off. Get it fucking off, Ian, please. Please, get it off."

Ian is already crouching down before that first _please_ even leaves his lips. He doesn't make a big deal of it. The spider is big and admittedly pretty creepy looking; a daddy long legs. Usually Ian wouldn't kill it, but today is an exception. He gently nudges the spider off Mickey's big toe and into the Kleenex. Then, he squashes it, even going so far as to ball the Kleenex up and make the trek outside to drop it in the bin sitting on the curb. 

He's hoping Mickey will be okay now that the spider is destroyed, but when Ian comes back in the house he finds Mickey in the bathroom with his head bowed.

"Mickey," Ian says softly, eyes growing round in concern.

"Fuck off," Mickey replies. He sniffs wetly, hastily swiping at his cheeks.

Ian's heart twists. He comes around Mickey until he's facing him, lifting Mickey's chin up with his thumb when he tries to turn away. "Hey. It's okay. I'm not gonna tell anyone."

Mickey huffs, blinking rapidly to get rid of his tears. "You won't." He sounds defensive and embarrassed, like he's waiting for Ian to make fun of him, or call him a pussy.

Ian shakes his head. "Promise."

Mickey bites his lip, still avoiding his gaze, but eventually he nods. 

"C'mere," Ian murmurs.

It really says something about how scared Mickey was that he doesn't resist at all when Ian pulls him in for a hug. He's quiet as Ian holds him close, and Ian kisses the side of his head, arms locked around him. They stand there for a moment, both barefoot and in their boxers, wrapped around each other, until the sniffles against Ian's shoulder die down and Mickey pulls away.

"Let's go watch a movie," Ian suggests, wanting to take Mickey's mind off it. He grabs Mickey's hand, linking their fingers together when Mickey doesn't immediately protest. "I wanna spoon."

That gets Mickey to spark a little, a reluctant smile starting to tug at his lips. "We're not gonna fuckin' spoon, idiot." Despite his words, he squeezes Ian's hand.

"Spork, then?" Ian smiles back at him playfully. "You'll let me spork you for sure."

Mickey snorts. "What the fuck is sporking?"

Ian wiggles his eyebrows.

"Jesus Christ."

"It's _Ian_ , Mick, I keep telling you."

Mickey rolls his eyes. They're crinkling a little, and aren't wet anymore. "Shut the fuck up, man." He let's go of Ian's hand, but moves past Ian and goes back to the living room, taking a seat on the couch. Suspiciously close to the edge, like he's leaving room for Ian to scoot in behind him. Ian smirks a little and quickly moves in before Mickey can change his mind. 

Mickey turns on the TV, and Ian snakes his arms around Mickey's waist, his thighs bracketing Mickey's. He clasps his hands over Mickey's stomach, letting Mickey command the remote. He tries hard not to beam when Mickey relaxes back into him. 

"What d'you wanna watch?" Mickey asks him, after a few seconds. He scowls a little. "And if you say Spiderman, so fucking help me I will--"

Ian lifts Mickey's chin again, craning his head to the slightly so he can look him in the eye. "No," Ian says. "The only man I wanna watch is you."

"Gallagher," Mickey complains.

Ian laughs, and decides to shut them both up by kissing him. Their lips make a soft smacking sound, and Mickey's "annoyed" grumble after they both settle in to watch a movie (that is absolutely spider free) sounds more like a pleased purr.


	9. prompt: family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yevgeny makes an appearance in this one.

The bacon sizzles and pops in the pan as Ian stands in front of it, spatula in hand. Occasionally a fleck of hot grease hits his arm, but he barely notices. He's too busy stealing glances over his shoulder at the scene unfolding behind him. 

Watching Mickey trying to feed Yevgeny will never not be cute, to Ian. From the goofy voice he uses to talk to Yevgeny when he thinks Ian isn't paying attention to them, to the exasperated sigh and soft grumbling when Yevgeny spits out the baby food and gets it all over his face.

“You wanna eat it, not _wear_ it, kid,” Mickey says, using his thumb to clean off Yevgeny's chin, and then making a face and wiping it off on Yevgeny's bib. 

Ian makes a noise as he flips a piece of bacon, and Mickey's eyes flick over to him, eyebrow quirked. “You got something to say?”

“Maybe you should follow your own advice,” Ian answers. His gaze deliberately drops to the neckline of Mickey's shirt. “Is that a mustard stain?” Ian tilts his head. Or maybe not. It looks a little too orange.

“Cheeto dust,” Mickey replies, confirming Ian's thoughts, and then, “Fuck you.”

Yevgeny squeaks, tiny fist reaching for Mickey. Mickey catches it automatically, the baby's little fingers uncurling and wrapping around two of Mickey's. Mickey strokes the top of Yevgeny's knuckles with his thumb as he looks down again and readies another spoonful of orange mush.

Ian's reply dies on his lips. He smiles instead, and turns back towards the stove.

“Bacon's ready,” he says a few minutes later, bringing the plate to the table. Ian kisses Yevgeny's forehead, and then Mickey's cheek, which dimples slightly as he immediately snags a piece. Ian sits down beside them and takes a sip of his decaf, steam curling from the top of the mug. He rests his arm along the back of Mickey's chair and Mickey bumps his foot against Ian's ankle.


	10. prompt: appreciation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry. <3

Mickey stares at himself in the mirror uncomfortably, bright lights of the store illuminating everything. The jeans are snug, hugging his thighs and ass, but the shirt is worse – butter soft and clingy, the neckline dipping low, exposing his hard pecs, but also showing the slight softness of his stomach.

He looks stupid, doesn't he? What's wrong with the clothes he already owns? They're old and frayed, sure, but at least they're loose.

“Are you done yet?” 

Ian's impatient voice on the other side of the curtain makes him jump, heart accelerating. “Yes, Christ, give me a fucking second.”

“C'mon, Mick, I wanna see.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and yanks the curtain open. Ian immediately zeroes in on him, reaching for his hands and pulling Mickey out of the changing room despite his protests. He lets go and stands back, giving Mickey a once over. 

The silence goes on for so long that Mickey starts to feel annoyed. If it's that fucking bad, he'd like Ian to just say that already instead of making him stand here like an idiot. He frowns, crossing his arms. “Well?”

Ian's gaze lifts from his body. “Turn around.”

Mickey huffs, but complies. It makes him face the mirror again, so he sees exactly where Ian's looking.

“Your ass looks amazing,” Ian says. His eyes connect with Mickey's in the mirror. “ _You_ look amazing, Jesus.”

Mickey's ears heat up, something warm and pleased unfurling in his belly and replacing the discomfort. He swallows when Ian comes up behind him, placing his hands on Mickey's shoulders and then sliding them down his arms, caressing the soft material. He's aware that they're in public, in a store, where anybody can see them.

“How does it feel?” Ian asks softly, coming closer and wrapping his arms around Mickey's stomach, Mickey's back against his chest.

“G-good,” Mickey answers. He wants to look away from their reflection, from where they're intertwined, but he can't. His arms uncross and, after a second of hesitation, cover the tops of Ian's.

“Good,” Ian echoes. He smiles. “We're getting these, then.”

“These clothes cost more than my fuckin' house,” Mickey says, because he has to argue a little.

“Worth it,” Ian says immediately.

Mickey wrinkles his nose. “Okay man, it's your bank account.” 

Ian grins. “It'll understand.” He lets go of Mickey.

Mickey shakes his head and goes back into the dressing room, but not before Ian gives his ass a smack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to try and fill some of those comment prompts soon!

**Author's Note:**

> idk, lol. feel free to leave me prompts in the comments. ♥


End file.
